


Notes, Passed and Scattered

by AppleSoda



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-09-28 07:22:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20422133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSoda/pseuds/AppleSoda
Summary: This will have drabbles on three houses with a variety of characters that don't canonly have supports in the game.Entry 2- Shamir realizes that the boy under her care has suffered a setback. Catherine assists, with her own definition of encouragement.





	1. Worth Weight in Gold

Small everyday matters rarely got the better of Dedue. After all, in the Officers’ Academy, just about everything could be taken care of or sorted out. All he really needed was to ensure that Dimitri was safe, that class progress was satisfactory, and that the greenhouse plot he tended to would grow without problems. Other matters either weighed little on Dedue’s mind, or touched on subjects that he would rather avoid.

The little gold earring in his hand, by the logic of which he lived his days, shouldn’t have bothered him. It was a part of his routine each morning when Dedue rose, fastened without much thought right after he had donned his uniform and finished his grooming. Whenever there was a problem, he reflexively reached for it, in part to have something to touch while he thought out whatever troubled him.

Yet despite himself, Dedue found himself lingering in the courtyard, looking at the sole remnant of days that had long since passed, its wire bent out of shape by something innocuous— a lance blow, a moment of carelessness— or something else he wasn’t quite sure of.Parts of it were dinged up, too.

“Oh, is that broken?” Hurrying across the courtyard was a female student he’d passed a few times— sticking close to her house leader often than not. She had a cheery demeanor and bright pink hair, but a reputation for doing as little as she could, despite serving as Claude Von Riegan’s right hand. Hilda preferred axes in battle drills, just as he did. But even though the two shared weapons, they rarely saw one another, and when they did, it was because Hilda was sneaking into practice with a sheepish but not guilty smile.

Still, there was no reason for discourtesy, despite what Dedue had heard about Hilda Goneril. She had done nothing to earn it, and whatever reasons she had for indolence mattered little.

“I suppose such things will happen,” Dedue made a move to put away the earring away, so that he could depart. 

“Wait, no, no. That’s easily repaired! Give it here,” Hilda reached over and gestured at the air, grinning far more confidently than she ever was during inter-house practice drills. “This type of thing happens all the time to precious metals, ‘cause they’re more soft and bendable than something like iron. Trust me on this.”

Out came a thin pair of pliers small kit that she had kept on her, and with a keen eye, she set upon the bent wire, adjusting it with a adept hand. If the earring was a machine, Hilda knew how it worked from the inside out.

“This is…surprising.” Dedue managed, despite himself.

“In what way?” There was a slight hint at defensiveness when she replied— atypical of a girl who didn’t seem to care in telling others what work to perform in her stead.

“I had presumed that such labor did not suit you,” he shrugged. Almost immediately, the words felt strange and uncomfortable. There was a reason, after all, that he seldom struck up conversations with those outside the Blue Lions. Even conversations with classmates tapered off or veered close to the Tragedy. But Alliance politics worked differently from the kingdom, and if Hilda was any indication, it seemed far easier to navigate.

She thought about the statment for a moment, and shrugged nonchalontly, continuing to turn the earring about to inspect it for further flaws.

“Well, it’s not like I hate _all_ work. I just like certain kinds better than others.” Hilda bore no resemblance to the artisans he had seen work with gold and silver in the distant days when Duscar had markets and towns— his days before they had become the days passed in Faerghus. “Accessories kind of speak to me, you know? They tell me so much about the people that make them and the people that wear them.”

He had almost forgotten that in addition to tools and weapons, blacksmiths mended cooking pots, scisssors and fashioned the gold jewelery that were gifted as coming-of-age presents. The treasures that his father had forged for children were what had made him happiest, and those were the objects that he had gathered with his sister to watch, from molten lump to beautiful, delicate creations.

His fater might have liked Hilda. Or he might have not, because he worked tiredlessly from dawn to dusk, never missing an order if he could help it. But it mattered little, because the man and the noble would never cross paths. Even if he couldn’t trust her with anything remotely as important as matters of the Kingdom and of Dimitri, Dedue sensed that Hilda would take care good care of the small part of his life that she patiently repaired.

“You seem really attached to that earring, Dedue. What’s it mean to you?” Hilda set the earring on a flat surface of a bench, and began to work out the dents with a level of precision that he wouldn’t have guessed someone who grew up noble to have been capable of. “A present? Something you’ve had for a long time?” It was a little exhausting, being peppered with questions from someone nosy. But once again, he disliked

“Gold can be sold easily,” Dedue answered. “It wasn’t the easiest to come by material goods in Duscur. “ He hesitated, but looked at how carefully she had worked. “But yes. It was made by my father in his shop.” After a moment, he added, “with symbols for strength and endurance etched in.” 

At the explanation, Hilda’s eyes lit up, as if she’d learned something important as a reward for her work. In the Kingdom, nobody thought much of a Duscar national’s possessions. Surely there were those the Fodlan people of the Alliance territories despised, as well.

“It’s beautiful. Just holding it makes me want to give my all in making sure it shines again.” She hadn’t been lying, if the way that she’d repaired the earring had meant anything. It emerged from the polishing cloth in Hilda’s hands as good as new. “Here, take this and use it to clean it after battles and stuff. Something that nice deserves to be taken care of.” She handed it back carefully.

“I agree. Thank you.” The corners of his mouth twitched up in a slight smile as the familiar weight of the earring settled in once more, a reminder of what he had moved past and what he had left to do. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“If it’s fixable,” asnwered Hilda brightly, “it’s not a big deal at all.”

“Hilda, are you going to help pick up spears or what?” An orange-haired girl called across the courtyard impatiently. With a grimace, Hilda gave him a baleful wave. “That’s Leonie. She’s going to be on my case if I don’t go. But take care, Dedue!” She said, before running off. “Thanks for telling me about your earring!”

With a silent nod of acknowledgement, Dedue picked up the rest of his things slowly, and took in the light breeze that jostled the grass of the courtyard, heading down the path towards the greenhouse. There were days ahead that would need all the strength and endurance he had, and he was grateful for every source— expected or unexpected, that could restore it in him.


	2. The Value of Perserverence

Very little distracted Shamir when she checked over her inventory. After all, nothing could afford to get lost when there were twenty-five knives on her person at all times. A single one misplaced during a job meant that she’d be pinned in places she’d needed to scout, or a site where someone needed to disappear— for good.

She heard a familiar cry of pain from across the courtyard of Garreg Mach, and ceased her silent count of knives and three varieties of arrows. Rolling her tools up into a belted quiver Catherine had given her, she crosssed the grassy expanse in quick, practiced steps that she usually didn’t use on the noble brats of the academy. Cyril, however, was a different case when it came to Shamir’s inventory, and when it came to just about any other part of her conduct.

A taller student— one that would graduate the upcoming year, Shamir guessed— had pinned the boy to the wall, a snarl twisting his aristocratic features.

“You’d better watch your place here, or the Archbishop’s going to realize that her little Almyran lapdog has gone mis—”

“Are you sure you want to finish that sentence?” Her fingers rested on the nearest dagger holster at her hip. There was no reason to draw a knife on a milk-fed son of a duke or a baron or wherever he came from. But the brat didn’t have to know that.

“N-no, I—” Nothing put the fear of the goddess into a student’s eyes than when she appeared, and Shamir knew to save such a trick for when it was needed the most. Stealth tactics, after all, never worked if they were employed too often.

“Picking fights with children now, Shamir?” Walking out onto the courtyard was the Thunderbrand-wielding knight, and her ever-wisecracking partner. “I thought you would’ve wanted to improve from the last time we sparred.”

“Can it, Catherine. The kid was in danger.” She turned Cyril around so that Catherine could see the black eye that Cyril now sported. He’d also been punched square in the face before the schoolyard assailant had been intercepted. Almost instantly, the knight’s features softened slightly. She’d always said to Shamir that she was never really one that understood children very well. But Cyril— hardworking, loyal-to-Rhea, and model-of-chivalry Cyril seemed to be the exception to the rule.

“Shamir, Lady Catherine….I’m sorry.” The boy looked down. The bruise on his face was going to start swelling soon, and Shamir gently steered him towards Manuela’s office, where the physician would readily apply ice and assign him to an afternoon of bed rest.

“I told you not to call me that. It’s not like I’m Lady Rhea or anything,” Catherine scratched the side of her head, as she always did when she felt frustrated. “Cyril…how’d you take two punches? I thought we’d been practicing brawling last week. You’re a better dodger than this.”

“Um….” A quiet voice rang out from the hallway that Shamir had thought was empty. “I can explain….” Catherine shot Shamir a look, as if silently asking when the last time a student had gotten the better of either of them. But this year’s class, Cyril included, had been full of unexpected surprises.

The girl, whose messily tousled purple hair made her stand out from her neatly-groomed Black Eagle peers, was one that Shamir had seen eating with Alois from time to time. She always looked on the verge of panicking, but her archery marks were good enough to pass sniper exams with flying colors.

“I was giving Cyril some tips on archery, and that boy said that…” Bernadetta von Varley bit back the words, hesitant to even repeat them. Catherine gestured for her to go on.

“He said that it was fitting that someone who couldn’t do anything was giving advice to someone with no future like him.” Bernadetta clutched her books tightly. “And-and…I couldn’t say anything, even though I’ve been working on bows and fighting…”

“Thank you,” she squeaked, nodding quickly as Cyril with a quick, customary hand-behind the back bow, before sprinting off, books and satchel flapping behind her like a banner. The squire and his guardians were left standing in the schoolyard alone, left to contemplate what had just happened.

“Well, we’re really something, setting the examples we’ve set,” Catherine frowned, crossing her arms. It wasn’t like her to doubt herself, from the way she fought to the way that she declared her intentions to win Shamir over. And like most of her endeavors, Thunder Catherine hadn’t lost. But Cyril was a puzzle for her, as much as she clearly adored the boy.

“No,” Cyril answered, quietly but defiantly. “The two of you taught me to stand up for myself, and to defend my worth with what I have.” He rubbed the ice pack against his arm. “Even if I don’t win every time, that’s gotta be worth something, doesn’t it?”

Shamir exchanged a look with Catherine, then looked back on the boy, small and gangly, but full of the potential to become a fighter, fierce and true. She smiled slightly, and reached out to ruffle his hair.

“It’s worth enough to the both of us, Cyril. So, any ideas on what you’d like to eat?”

“I just got paid, so it’s my treat,” Catherine grinned, pulling her arm around Shamir and looping her close. “We’ll be feasting well, because it’s a victory!”

“It’s a school night,” Shamir interjected. “Which means you’re not running a bar tab.” In her old life, she’d never expected a knight of Seiros and a child of Almyra to take up so much of her heart. But she surmised that in life, some things got the better of even the best operatives, and that silences that lasted for too long weren’t nearly as exciting. 


End file.
